Echarpe
by yuugata no baka
Summary: But so what? Girlfriends came a dime a dozen. Childprodigy profilers did not and it was unfair to lump them together. light slash, GideonReid on the jet.


Echarpe

Series: Criminal Minds

Pairing/Characters: Jason Gideon, Spencer Reid, extremely minor slash

Summary: But so what? Girlfriends came a dime a dozen. Child-prodigy profilers did not and it was unfair to lump them together.

My first criminal minds fic. Very light, nothing very spectacular happens. I want to try something darker with Reid later, because darkness and torment is much easier; but I hope this inspires interest in the same way.

Enjoy.

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Spencer Reid tugged his scarf up onto his pointed nose, eyebrows tensing in thought towards the multicoloured pieces on the table before him. He was oddly cold, and considering that up in a jet, miles in the air, one is closer to the sun, which entails warmth . . . he realised that that's why he was a psychologist. The "pseudo" in pseudo-science eliminated such insecurities and replaced them with entirely new ones.

"Check," he uttered routinely, cutting through the ambient hum of the airplane's engines with his voice. He frowned with pride, but then as the next set of moves ensuring his downfall was revealed to him, he sunk back into his collar like a turtle. He hated to see things when it was too late, whether it was the clue to win a chess game, or the detail that would keep a fearful hostage alive.

Jason Gideon folded his hands beneath his chin. Chess was perfect for psychological analysis because it did not hurt. No one was typically revealed as an emotional fraud, no one's inhibitions were spun up into a great spike to drive through their self-esteem. He took the next move, just as was expected by Reid.

Reid tensed his boney shoulders, dark red eyelids apparent in his squint board-wards. There were three or four options for his next move and a number of combos, but math was not his favourite either. What he desired was to look his elder in the eyes, so he chose his move in haste and looked up.

Gideon's thin lips drew into a straight, determined frown. He stared across the table at Reid, grunting in mild amusement at the particular way he held out his head with the neck outstretched; the curve of his lips and the upturned jaw. It was verily curious that a man of his level of intellect could still hold the air of just some boy. Social ignorance was one thing, but whatever else it was that kept Reid looking young Gideon was grateful for. It was amusing, if nothing else.

Reid caught the sense he was being crosscut, examined, though with great care and trust, he didn't like it. He returned his gaze to the chessboard and awaited the round, hardened fingers on their next movement.

The older man replaced his folded hands under his throat. There was no doubt Reid resembled _her_. His first love after high school; the first girl who had even taken his security away. Her tall, lanky frame and stirring pouting lips had presented his delusions of living eternally with youth and beauty.

But so what? Girlfriends came a dime a dozen. Child-prodigy profilers did not and it was unfair to lump them together.

There had undeniably been times when Gideon imagined those boney knees of his junior agent bent in unexpected ways, pinkened with strain, or mussed ribbons of hair assaulting dark eyes that shone out with undiluted heat. He knew he imagined that. With is renowned wisdom, he had to at least realize that and he did.

Jason Gideon also knew that there was no way that Spencer Reid knew the appeal of his youth nor could he know to exploit it. The way his collarbones appeared when he twisted out of his jacket; and the little moan he made before he fell asleep on the jet's stiffest couch was purely incidental.

"Yours," Reid mumbled, and not removing his eyes from the table hooked a finger into his scarf and pulled it slowly loose.

Even if Gideon weren't trained in the field he would have known the vast range of meaning in that simple gesture. Struggle for freedom; vanity, maybe just a nervous habit; the desire for abandon of self-consciousness.

So Gideon did not move. He observed the action until Reid peered up through his forceful eyebrows, caught a glance of small black eyes on him, tipped up his head with arrogant resilience, and looked down his nose at his senior.

Gideon raised his eyebrows concurrently and leant forward. Reid likened to their proximity and Jason's position so near to his face and leaned forward as well, quizzical frown still on his brow and dark red lids.

Intensity rose, the whir of the plane's engines started to fade in the silence of the two profiler's immediacy.

Gideon saw the younger one's scarf was drawn down far enough to reveal his beige-ish collarbone jutting out on one side, and thanks to the tilt of his neck the dark purple cord connecting his jaw to his torso was visible, taut, indicating a clenched jaw.

Tension climaxed. Now or never, whatever could happen would, right now. Jason Gideon sighed.

Gideon drew a hand off of his knee and reached out, tugging Reid's thin purple scarf back into place, high on his chin, brushing his nose and ear.

"You'll catch a cold," Gideon said, voice firm and quiet, fully observing the absurdity of the situation and those much overused words. He returned to the game below them and took his next move.

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End file.
